


Late Night Conversations

by asamiruria



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cute, DaveJade Week 2015, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, I WROTE THIS IN LIKE AN HOUR K DON'T CRITICISE, Late Night Conversations, Sweet, also first hs fanfic! :D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4157715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asamiruria/pseuds/asamiruria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sorry Dave, I tuned you out after the first three sentences,” you reply, giggling. “But it was just the usual ‘my Bro is a dick, I hate everything, woe is me’, right?”</p><p>Dave pretends to look scandalised. “How dare you reduce my carefully constructed and highly stimulating philosophical musings about the cruelties of life to just those three disgustingly general and simple phrases which in no way communicate my true meaning?” Then he concedes with a laugh. “Yeah, that was basically the gist of it. A guy’s gotta have something to write long, convoluted verbal essays about, y’know?”</p><p>You chuckle softly. “I know, Dave, I know.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Conversations

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a thing I wrote for DaveJade Week 2015 in like an hour. I had to get the DaveJade fluff out of my system. Hehe :D hope you enjoy either way!

“… but what the fuck was the point of him asking me to clean all that shit out of the kitchen if it was all just gonna end up back in there anyway? And why the fuck did I agree to do it?  Stupid puppet-ass obsessed, sword-toting bag of dicks, couldn’t just actually store _food_ in the cupboards or use the sink for _washing dishes_ and the microwave for _heating up meals_ like a normal person, noooooooo, he has to shove all his shitty anime swords and fireworks and puppets in whatever space he can find. What does he even need all that shit for, anyway? Is he planning to open up shop selling katanas to all the other weebs out there? Is he planning to hoard fireworks until New Year’s Eve and then make a huge profit selling them to stupid teenagers so they can blow themselves up? Somehow, I sincerely fucking doubt it. He’s just keeping them around to screw with me, Jade, I know it. Unless he actually isn’t aware of the dangers of being sliced to ribbons from the avalanche of cheap weaponry that comes tumbling out every time I so much as knock against one of those cupboard doors. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if that were the case; you’ve seen him, he’s hardly the definition of a functioning member of society. Fucking hell, what if he thinks doing all the shit he does is _normal_? Oh god, Jade, someone’s gotta break it to him!”

Your mouth curves into a fond smile as you listen to Dave rant and complain. You’re both lying on your respective sides of the bed, facing each other. Dave’s shades and your glasses have been carefully folded up and placed next to each other on the bedside table. The only light source in the room is the small nightlight mounted on the wall near your side of the bed, and you can barely make out the beautiful crimson of Dave’s eyes in its dim yellow glow. He’s gesturing in the air with his left hand while he talks, and his right arm is curled to his chest in the space between you. His fingers are long, slim and tapering, and you would tangle your own with them if not for the extremely awkward position you’d have to manoeuvre your arm into.

“… Jade? Jade! HQ to Pilot Harley, the mission’s over and you can come back planetside now! Jesus, were you even fucking listening to anything I just said? I told you; I’m overdue for my daily dose of loving sympathy from my girlfriend. I just might perish without it. You’d be the cause of the world missing out on around sixty more years of the divine gift to humanity that is Dave Strider. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you, Harley? Oh, I’m feeling faint already!”

He puts the back of his hand to his forehead, dramatically attempting to collapse into the bed. The effect is rather ruined by the fact that he had already been lying down, so it just results in him doing a comically violent flop from his side to his back.

“Sorry Dave, I tuned you out after the first three sentences,” you reply, giggling. “But it was just the usual ‘my Bro is a dick, I hate everything, woe is me’, right?”

Dave pretends to look scandalised. “How dare you reduce my carefully constructed and highly stimulating philosophical musings about the cruelties of life to just those three disgustingly general and simple phrases which in no way communicate my true meaning?” Then he concedes with a laugh. “Yeah, that was basically the gist of it. A guy’s gotta have something to write long, convoluted verbal essays about, y’know?”

You chuckle softly. “I know, Dave, I know.”

He huffs and wriggles towards you on the bed so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck. “Seriously though,” he mumbles, “my Bro is a huge pain in the ass. Can I like, move in with you or something? It’s not like you’re lacking space or anything.”

“Of course,” you respond, surprised. “I was actually going to ask you to do that earlier today, but I forgot.”

At that, he raises his head slightly, his gaze incredulous. “Wait, really? I was just saying that as a joke, you know, I wasn’t really demanding you to just let me waltz my way in here, I mean, that would be mad rude…”

You smile and shush him gently. “No, you’re completely welcome to move in with me any time you want. You can take the spare bedroom next to this one. I didn’t buy a two-bedroom apartment for nothing, you know! I’d imagined that I’d want to get a roommate someday, it’s just a bonus that it’s my boyfriend!”

His face stretches into a wide grin and he throws an arm around you, pressing his face into your neck again. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jade, you’re the best,” he laughs against your skin. “Seriously, I couldn’t have asked for a better girlfriend.”

You bring up a finger to poke the back of his head. “Are you getting soft on me, David Elizabeth Strider? Is that what this is?”

He smacks you lightly in response. “No, shut up, and also my name isn’t David and my middle name isn’t Elizabeth!”

“Sure, David Lizzie!” You chirp. He grumbles, annoyed, but doesn’t move to correct you again.

In the contented silence that follows, you begin to thread your fingers through his soft, blonde hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. You feel him relax against you, sighing through his nose and tightening his arm around your waist. You move your hand down to his neck and shoulders, massaging him gently, hearing his groan of approval as you work his knotted muscles loose. You alternate between carding your fingers soothingly through his hair and rubbing circles into his back.

Gradually, his breathing evens out and his eyes close, body falling limp in your embrace. You reach up and flick the switch to turn the nightlight off, leaving only the blurry shape of the moon behind the translucent curtains to illuminate the room. In its silver radiance, Dave’s pale skin seems to glow. The light reflects off his long, almost-white eyelashes, which sweep over the constellation of freckles on his cheekbones. He looks ethereal, delicate, and so, so beautiful.

A fierce swell of love and protectiveness rises in you, and you wrap your arms around his slender form, sheltering him in the curve of your body. You bury your nose in his hair, breathing in the sweet scent of his apple shampoo, and let the certainty of the many, many, tomorrows that you will share with the boy you hold close lull you to sleep.  

**Author's Note:**

> Shitty ending.


End file.
